The Watson Files
by ktwontwo
Summary: You might think that MI 6 would not bother to keep a file on a mild mannered ex-army doctor with a medical discharge. You'd be wrong. A series of snippets (1,000 words or less) involving John H. Watson, ex RAMC which may or may not be found the above mentioned file. Prompt list derived from John Watson's Woes (JWP 2017.) A part of the 2.5 Holmes 'verse.
1. Injury

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Injury**

It was just luck that I happened to be in the car when I got the call. According to my on and off girlfriend Shirley Sherlock and John had been chasing someone which had resulted in John falling or being pushed off the Westminster Bridge into the Thames. Sherlock, of course, had gone in after him.

Shirley directed me to the most likely place that they would come ashore and indicated that an ambulance was in route. I got there just in time to see Sherlock, looking like a half-drowned rat, stagger out of the water dragging what had to be John. As I headed down the steps Sherlock dropped to his knees beside John's body and started rescue breathing.

 _Thank heavens for those mandatory first aid classes_ I thought. Everyone who worked at the Yard, even the consultants, had to take them. Sherlock had bitched and moaned but complied. Those mandatory classes were usually deadly dull and full of information that the average bloke wouldn't retain more than 5 minutes. That would have been the case this time too but for John Watson. Despite the fact he was a practicing MD entitled him to an exemption, he had been in the session with Sherlock, I and most of my team. John had provided anecdotes, mnemonics and really bad puns which made the stuff a lot easier to remember. I found myself singing _Staying Alive_ under my breath as I reached the two of them.

It wasn't needed. Sherlock rolled John on his side into the recovery position. John took a deep breath then coughed and threw up. Sherlock used his scarf, which somehow was still wrapped around his neck, to wipe John's face one handed. It was then I noticed that Sherlock's other hand was pressed hard into John's side.

The ambulance arrived just then and I stepped back to let the professionals take over. I marveled at the efficiency and at the fact that the paramedics hadn't even attempted to separate the two. It didn't take very long before John and Sherlock were triaged, stabilized and whisked away to Hospital.

It took me a little longer. I ended up interfacing with emergency services, the investigating officers from the local substation, and the forensics team that ended up on the bridge. I only managed to get away by being strategically delegated to go and get a statement from Mr. Holmes. It seems my well known status as the METs resident "Sherlock Whisperer" was paying off in this instance at least.

The A&E was busy but upon signing in I was very quickly shunted aside to a rather concerned looking nurse whose badge read Smithfield. She informed me that Dr. Watson was in surgery because he'd been stabbed before going into the water. They were making sure that the knife hadn't nicked anything important. John's prognosis was good last she'd heard despite getting filthy water in the open wound. He was most likely going to be stuck in Hospital for a couple days due to high dosage antibiotics but all and all he should be fine.

Nurse Smithfield, however, was more concerned about Sherlock. Apparently after a small blow up at the ambulance service personnel and a couple of scathing remarks directed at the team who had converged on Dr. Watson he'd subsided into a suspiciously quiet and cooperative state. He'd followed instructions and answered questions with nary a deduction, _obviously_ , or _idiot_ to be had. Smithfield, who had dealt with Sherlock previously, wanted to know if they should check for concussion or other brain injury.

I briefly wondered if everyone in the entire city thought I was an expert on Sherlock Holmes, then I realized that I probably had a decent idea what was going on. Despite his rather vocal protestations that he was a _high functioning sociopath_ I knew that Sherlock, when he let himself care, cared deeply. I also knew he had quite a bit of knowledge about the damage a human body could sustain before expiring, the chemical composition of the Thames, and the dangers of hypothermia along with other bits of esoteric information stored in his extensive mind palace. Couple that knowledge with his deductive reasoning and ability to read people meant that he most likely had run through a number scenarios regarding John's condition, each one more dire than the last. Patient confidentiality would preclude him from getting any real facts so he'd emotionally shut down to avoid dealing with the possibility of John's permanent incapacitation or death.

I knew I was going to be in for a long night as I asked Nurse Smithfield to take me to Sherlock.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** My muse imagined Sherlock pulling John out at RAF memorial across the river from the London Eye. That puts St. Thomas as the closest hospital.

This list was part of the 2017 July Writing Prompts at John Watson's Woe's on Dreamwidth. The original prompt was as follows: Watson injury (any severity), from a different POV than Holmes (meaning Mrs. Hudson, Scotland Yard, Baker Street Irregular, The Villain (whoever he/she may be), etc.


	2. Summertime

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – Summertime**

I never really understood the concept of _the dog days of summer_ until I saw Gladstone stretched on his back, paws splayed out sleeping with Sherlock snoozing in a nearly identical position on the sofa wearing a slightly damp sheet.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I read the prompt and this occurred fully formed; nothing more, nothing less. Original Prompt: Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. Your prompt for today is: Summer in the city.


	3. Overheard

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Overheard**

It was a relatively calm morning in Q branch. I was doing the monthly update to the MI 6 E-mail blacklist filter. While the blacklist itself was mostly automated these days, thank you Q, we did run a filtering algorithm on the stuff that was segregated to keep track of who was attempting to do what to whom in the wider cyber world. One of the side effects of being a quasi-secret government agency with top notch security was that everyone and their brother with any aspirations attempted at one point or another to get into our business. A large amount of the low level attacks started out as embedded e-mail attachments and keeping track of them often gave us valuable information on the perpetrators. Unfortunately the landscape and sophistication of such attacks changed rather frequently which required tweaking the algorithm to segregate the unique and useful from the mundane and mass produced. It was a fiddly job with some minor tricky bits, not at all my favorite bit of programing but it was why I happened to be at my station when Mycroft Holmes walked into the branch.

I watched a couple of my co-workers discretely exit the room and a couple more suddenly sprout headphones. I then realized that I had nothing similar within arm's reach. Rats, I thought to myself as I realized that I was going to inevitably overhear whatever had brought the man, commonly referred to as _The Iceman_ by both the diplomatic and espionage communities, to consult with his brother, my boss, Q. While my security clearance was quite high the level upon which these two moved was a bit above my pay grade.

"Q," Mr. Holmes said before moving up onto the platform containing the Quartermaster's stand up workstation which overlooked the main branch workroom.

"Mr. Holmes," Q replied in a similar tone as if he was talking to any high ranking official who just happened to drop into the branch.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Holmes place a large yellow mailing envelope on the corner of the Quartermaster's desk. I continued watching the reflection in my secondary computer screen to determine whether Mr. Holmes was leaving or staying and ended up catching the most interesting display of non-verbal communication.

Mr. Holmes nodded at the envelope. Q in return looked at it and raised his eyebrows. Mr. Holmes seemed to slump momentarily which resulted in Q giving his keyboard a caress in the manner one would pet a cat.

I knew that move. It was one that Q would do often with M just before he asked if there was a time limit on some directive or another.

Mr. Holmes remained still for a bit. I couldn't see his face and his body language was not giving anything away either. Q must have seen something though because after 30 seconds or so he laced his hands together, index fingers extended and rested his chin on the tips momentarily.

Again I couldn't see Mr. Holmes response, if there was any.

Q glanced around the bullpen and I made sure to look engrossed in my coding. A moment after I heard Mr. Holmes clear his throat. I once again angled my head so I could see the reaction.

Q smiled slightly and tapped the envelope once receiving a slight nod in response. With that, Mr. Holmes turned and strolled out of the branch.

I stopped what I was doing and composed a quick e-mail. A direct request from the man also known as _The British Government_ for Q's assistance meant that we'd all need to take up the slack a bit.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Original Prompt: Overheard. Eavesdropping and its possible consequences (be it misunderstandings, hurt and anger, something awkward taken totally out of context, whatever). If you didn't catch it this is from the POV of Spider, one of the Q branch minions. If you want Q's POV of this conversation you'll need to keep an eye out for History Lesson, Chapter 3 (It's not posted quite yet but will be soon).


	4. Disguise

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Disguise**

The computer beeped at me with the tone that indicated an interoffice communication. It seemed that my presence was requested in Q branch although not STAT given the form and the wording of the missive. I headed out from the small office in MI 6 medical thinking that it was just one more item in what had already been a strange day, even for me.

The day had started with a completely out of the blue kidnapping attempt. I say kidnapping but it was more a _grab Sherlock and kill or incapacitate me_ attempt. We had just finished up the paperwork at the Yard for a case involving stale biscuits, waterfowl and gem smuggling when Sherlock noticed we were being tailed. Due in large part to Sherlock's encyclopedic knowledge of London and a shortcut through a tube station; we managed to get a good number of our pursuers into the hands of the transport police and most likely from there to the security services as potential terrorists.

That little escapade was immediately followed by a consultation with Molly at the morgue regarding the identity of several bodies. The four bodies involved were in somewhat bad shape since they'd managed to get themselves blown up in an empty NSY safe house. Molly had been attempting to determine if an IED was involved due to the amount of plastic and metal shrapnel. For a change she was more interested in my Afghan experience than in Sherlock's deductive prowess.

On the way back to Baker Street in a cab Sherlock took a call from Mycroft that was notable in that there were no sarcastic remarks or attempted one-upmanship from Sherlock's side of the conversation. The fact that he'd answered rather than texting was strange in and of itself. In addition, I wouldn't have even known the caller was Mycroft but for the fact that Sherlock had grimaced and told me so before answering. Whatever his brother had told him sent Sherlock into a texting frenzy for the remainder of the ride.

I hadn't expected an explanation until we were back in the flat but we'd barely hung up our coats when Sherlock received a text from Lestrade and I got one from MI 6 medical. Lestrade wanted assistance in identifying Molly's bodies and MI 6 wanted me to fill in a half-shift for a doctor with a sudden family emergency.

Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom muttering something about needing to check in with his homeless network on the way to the Yard. I took the time to stuff a variety of items into a rucksack just in case I managed to get off in time to accompany him. By the time I needed to leave Sherlock had not reappeared so I just hollered at him and headed out almost running over Billy Wiggins in the process of getting out the front door.

MI 6 seemed tense. I'd been working locum for them long enough to assess the zeitgeist of the office. It appeared to be at the _mission in process of going sideways_ as opposed to _everything going to hell in a handbasket_. Medical at least was calm. There were no currently admitted agents and it looked like there hadn't been anything more serious than training bruises and a minor burn from one of the coffee makers for seventy two hours or so. I hadn't even wanted to speculate what either of those facts coupled with the overall mood portended for my shift.

I'd barely managed to review the logs when the summons from Q branch occurred. It didn't take me long to get into the depths of the building. I was expecting that I was needed to consult on a field medical issue. I didn't expect to be shoved into one of the smaller operations rooms with R, Tanner and 006 with what appeared to be freshly dyed blond hair. That last caused a double take on my part but I didn't ask.

"Come here John," R said. "I need your expert opinion on this."

She motioned at a monitor showing a street scene that looked a bit like London.

"What do you need?" I asked.

She pointed at a figure weaving in and out of the pedestrians on the pavement.

"Is that yours or ours?"

I could see her confusion. If I hadn't know him as well as I did I would have had a hard time telling that the person she was pointing at was Sherlock as opposed to his younger half-brother. The disguise was masterful right down to the mannerisms and style of walk. The extra two inches of height and slightly darker hair gave things away for me as did the jumper that he'd clearly stolen from my closet.

"Mine," I replied.

"You have your assignment 006," Tanner remarked.

"Loose tail but don't make contact," Alec Trevelyan responded with a smile. "Grab anyone who is doing the same thing."

"And hope he doesn't attempt to lose you," R added.

"Roger," Trevelyan acknowledged and left.

"Thank you very much for your assistance Dr. Watson," Tanner added before the door had closed behind him.

I knew a dismissal when I heard one so I departed heading back for medical. I also knew better than to ask why exactly Sherlock was gallivanting around London in disguise pretending to be his brother playing bait with at least one 00 as a bodyguard. I knew I'd be able to get the whole story out of Sherlock later.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Original Prompt - To the Makeup Table! Focus on Holmes and/or Watson in disguise – for a case, or for any other reason. If you didn't catch this we are right back into the "Find/Protect the asset" arc.


	5. Note to Self

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 5 - Note to Self**

Fact: Medical pump not responding, maximum dosage dispensed.

Choice: Control pain or control mind?

Analysis: Cover status unknown, Moran location unknown, Moran ability to breach Mycroft's security 43%.

Available assets: Agents in area, firearm in bedframe, knife in closet, medical equipment, room contents.

Conclusion: Ability to move paramount, control pain, endure hallucinations.

The music oh so helpfully dredged up from my mind palace was from that pub in Norway where I'd tended bar for several weeks. It was an eclectic range of genres ranging from punk rock to folk and seemingly everything in between. Net result had been a significant expansion in my knowledge of the popular music soundscape. Every other piece in my hallucination seemed to be by a specific Irish rock band. Musically this was not terribly problematic. In fact, I'd already flagged some of the tunes for violin adaptation. The lyrics however were promotive of reflection and that was, as John would say, a bit not good.

… _See the stone set in your eyes, see the thorn twist in your side…_

John Watson as I'd seen him in a picture, exiting a pub after a late lunch. He'd looked worn and almost in pain, clearly unhappy.

… _Sleight of hand and twist of fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait…_

Oh John. I'd hurt you badly with my clever scheming. No way to bring you into the secret without jeopardizing your very existence. I'd provided hints but it appeared that the only thing I'd accomplished was to make you wait in emotional agony.

… _Through the storm we reach the shore, you give it all but I want more…_

John behind me, in front of me, at my side; running, fighting, pulling me out of harm's way, trying not to giggle inappropriately afterwards. John's fist connecting with the superintendent's chin. John and I escaping, handcuffed together. John bewildered on the pavement looking up at me standing on the roof.

… _My hands are tied, my body bruised…nothing to win and nothing left to lose…_

Pain, cold, dark, then questions, always the same questions; who and what with the occasional when and where. Don't talk, don't say; three lives depend on it; one life in particular. Even if I don't make it out John will survive.

… _And you give yourself away…_

John, at the clinic, in the A giving care to others taking little comfort for himself. What happens when that strength runs out and there is nothing left to give?

… _With or without you…_

I will go on regardless; finish the job, complete the mission. It doesn't matter if he turns away or toward me; as long as he lives so do I.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Original Prompt: Note to Self: Anything from a pencil jot on a paper cuff or a string on a finger to a modern sticky note or a cell phone alarm. Doesn't matter who the writer is, so long as there's something he/she needs a reminder for. This little bit of angst is courtesy of a U2 song colliding with a prompt. Occurring toward the end of the hiatus when only Moran remains at the head of a much reduced organization, my muse turned what was meant to be a written reminder into a musical one.


	6. Poetry

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Poetry**

As A&E shifts went it hadn't been bad, just long. I was a bit tired and looking forward to nothing more stimulating than tea, take away and tele, not necessarily in that order. What I found when I arrived in the flat was a mess of crumpled paper around the desk and Sherlock prostrate on the sofa. He didn't twitch when I entered so I assumed he was deep in his mind palace. Good, that gave me a chance to clean up without having to worry about him suddenly deciding that he needed to rescue what I'd put in the bin.

The mess wasn't as bad as it looked. Sherlock had managed to get at least three-quarters of the crumpled paper into the trash receptacle, which was a significantly higher percentage than normal. I took a quick look at the remainder as I picked it up just in case there was something important like the power bill in the mess. I discovered that most of the papers were covered with Sherlock's distinctive scrawl in a mish-mash of jotted down numbers, lists of words, a phrase or two, the occasional doodle as well as a couple of half-finished sketches. Once they were all collected I looked around and spotted a lone piece of paper which had managed to find its way half under the desk drawers. It proved to be the most interesting one of the lot. Barely crumpled it contained what looked to be a completed poem.

Curious, I read it once, twice and then a third time. I wasn't quite sure I understood but behind me the author stirred out of his self-imposed trance. I decided to ask.

"So what's all this?" I indicated the now overflowing bin and waggled the paper I had in my hand.

"Deletion," Sherlock replied.

"Deletion?" I echoed, "With foolscap and poetry? I thought your mind palace was just that, all in your head."

Sherlock waived a hand languidly, "Occasionally there is detritus that resists the normal deletion process and requires a bit more tactile approach."

"This doesn't look like random debris. It's a full-fledged poem," I waived the paper at him.

"Used for rather recalcitrant concepts or information; I find the structure organizes things enough for my normal methods to process." He half frowned at my apparent noncomprehension and added, "The amount of resistance to deletion is directly proportional the level of poetic structure necessary to excise it."

"So this was particularly tricky then?"

"Yep," Sherlock sat up, "A villanelle is not normally required."

I thought I understood, "So I'm assuming that the Northern Italian place is not worth our patronage again?"

"Not at all," Sherlock replied with a hint of a smile, "It just means we don't drink two and a half bottles of wine with dinner."

 ****The Poem****

Blame it on an excess of Chianti.  
An extremely vivid dream,  
About a Victorian vigilante.

It greatly upset my repose,  
Reality in truth did it seem,  
A fault of the Chianti?

A detective in dandy clothes,  
Working in the age of steam,  
Outside the law, a vigilante.

Deadly plots he does expose.  
From faint clues deductions gleam.  
Not blood, only spilled Chianti.

How dost end this tale of woes?  
With suicide; a woman's scream?  
In death for the vigilante?

That must be yet left to compose,  
Continuing the remembered theme,  
Six courses and, of course, Chianti,  
Conspiring revenge upon the vigilante.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Original Prompt: A character writes poetry (It doesn't have to be good poetry).


	7. Midnight Summons

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – Midnight Summons**

For a moment I thought…but no it was only my mobile rousing me out of the first sound sleep I'd had in a long time.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Watson." It wasn't a question.

The female voice continued, "You would remember me as," there was a slight pause, "Anthea."

Crap. What the heck was Mycroft Homes' PA doing calling me at, I glanced at the clock, 0 dark 30.

"Yes?"

"I need your assistance."

I wondered what Mycroft wanted of me but I didn't ask. Better to let her spell it out.

"Mr. Holmes is inbound on military transport. He's been shot and to all reports is being recalcitrant about receiving medical assistance."

"And you are calling me because? I mean the last time we spoke I almost punched him."

"He would have let you," she informed me bluntly then continued, "You are the only person I know that has a chance to make him sit still for treatment and agree to follow medical advice."

I sighed.

"I'll be ready in five and there better be coffee."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I see this as occurring near the end of the Hiatus. In my head canon Mycroft had to do quite a bit in the field toward the end not only to get Sherlock out of Serbia but also to set things up. Original Prompt - Witching Hour. Your prompt for today is: _midnight summons_.


	8. Expertise

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 8 -** **Expertise** **  
**

"I don't know just what you'll think you'll get from the victims flat but here we are," Lestrade said as he turned the key in the lock.

"Why exactly are we here Sherlock?" John asked.

"Because she didn't drink the poisoned tea"

"But she spilled half a cup when she went down," Lestrade said from the doorway as they entered the flat.

"You see but you don't observe," Sherlock said. "It's obvious she didn't drink the tea because..."

"She was American!" Sally chimed in

Everyone turned to look at Donovan. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Look at this place," Sally gestured. "Sewing machine, pieces of fabric, cutting mat, rotary cutter, she was a quilter; that's a distinctive American art form."

Sherlock looked intrigued, "Why not someone who just took up the hobby?"

"Scrap quilter."

"What?" Lestrade's voice was confused.

"American Quilting started as a way to use up extra material left over from making clothing usually on the frontier. The traditional patterns were designed to look good with a variety of fabrics in small pieces. Most people taking up the hobby just go and buy material, this is all scraps."

John could see Sherlock integrating the new information as he looked around the flat.

Meanwhile Lestrade asked, "And you know this how?"

"Second cousin in the States took up the hobby. Absolutely bonkers about it."

Sherlock was looking puzzled as he walked about examining things.

"Poisoning over time," he muttered, "delivery method…mhmmm"

Sally was looking at the sewing implements and then suddenly said, "Pins!

Sherlock came over and stood at her elbow. "Contact poison?"

"Ingested," she replied. "Sewers tend to hold pins in their mouths when they get going."

"Ah!" Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "Once the toxicology report comes back arrest the sister."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Original Prompt = Everyone Loves Sharing Their Expertise. All of us have something we've learned about or practiced a great deal. Whether it's knitting, or horseback-riding, or a particular performing group, use one of your own hobbies or interests as the inspiration for today's work.


	9. Hidden Talent

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – Hidden Talent**

Q and his brother looked up with identical expressions of annoyance at the man who had walked into Q-Branch holding R hostage with a gun. He only made it half way across the room when Q pulled out a rather large handgun from his desk drawer and shot him causing the intruder to drop his gun, release R and end up on the floor curled around his now shattered arm.

Dr. Watson who had been observing the two genius' work walked over to the injured man while commenting to the room at large, "It's rather stupid to assume that the folks who hand out the guns to the agents don't know how to use them effectively."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A 3 sentence fiction for this one. Original prompt: I Never Get Your Limits. A character's hidden talent saves the day. The talent, and the character, is up to you, as well as what constitutes 'saves the day'.


	10. Third Item

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – Third Item**

It had started for Sherlock and I as a simple case involving missing money and potential embezzlement. For Lestrade it had been a relatively straight forward murder investigation. The two cases converged, literally, in the lobby of a rather disreputable office building which was the business address of a particular accountant. Now, I was stuck in a dingy office with a decapitated body guarding the scene while Sherlock and Lestrade had gone to see if they could figure out what had happened to the head.

As I looked around the office I faintly heard a clang followed by a metallic squeal. From the noise I deduced that Sherlock and Lestrade were investigating the bins in the alley below the window. I continued looking around at the office. It was small but functional containing a desk, a computer, and a file cabinet complete with a random assortment of items stuck to its side with magnets. There was a desk chair, what I presumed to be a chair for visitors and the headless body on the floor by the window. I suspected that what Sherlock and I would need to solve the embezzlement case would be in the computer so I sat down to see if I could potentially find anything before the forensics squad arrived to bag and tag everything as evidence.

I realized then, by bumping the mouse, that the computer was actually on. The screen lit up with a standard screen saver with a nice blank box for a password. On the off chance I typed "password." No such luck. Well maybe he'd written it down? I looked in the likely places for a post-it note or scrap of paper. It was not on the back of the keyboard, not on the computer case, not in or stuck to any of the desk drawers, and not attached to any pieces of the desk set. I looked around for other likely places and noticed that the side of the file cabinet and its magnetic hung brick-a-brack was within easy reach. Not that there was anything outstanding; a couple of notes, a faded photograph and a 2 year old calendar open to April. The picture was nice but nothing spectacular so was our accountant lazy, enamored of the particular scenery or…12 characters later I was in and copying the contents of the hard drive to a micro-USB given to me by Sherlock's brother that I kept on my key chain.

I heard another faint clang just as the computer beeped signaling that the operation was complete. I disengaged and pocketed the drive then decided to see if I could see whether or not Sherlock and Lestrade had actually found anything in the bins. I walked over to the window being careful not to disturb the body. I absently noted that despite the condition of the rest of the building the owners had recently upgraded the windows. It was probably a bid to save money as older buildings like this one lost most of their heat through their windows as the walls were already quite thick. At first I thought the window only looked as if it would open because it didn't budge much initially. I wiggled the bottom a little just in case it was stuck and something gave as it started to go up easily.

I hadn't managed to raise the window very far when I was unceremoniously grabbed from behind and pulled backward. I attempted to elbow my attacker then turn and swing however the movement unbalanced us both and we fell to the floor. It was at this point two things happened simultaneously, I realized that I had been grabbed by Sherlock and there was a loud thunk from the direction of the window.

"Bloody hell John," Lestrade said from the doorway. "If you had stuck your head out the window…" he trailed off, presumably he was staring at the body.

I craned my neck to look as Sherlock had not yet released his grasp on me. I could feel his heart pounding as his arms held me firmly. My brain didn't process what I saw at first. The lower half of the window was now blocked by something.

"A guillotine built into the window casing," Sherlock breathed into my hair.

I squiggled around in an attempt to look at him and Sherlock somewhat reluctantly let me go. At that point it was easier to get to my feet and offer Sherlock a hand up. Sherlock took it.

"We'll leave you to it," Sherlock said to Lestrade once he was on his feet, "I'm taking John home. He's had somewhat of a shock and aggravated his shoulder when he landed on the floor."

Lestrade gave both of us a very strange look but I didn't really have a chance to respond as Sherlock, who had yet to release my hand, was maneuvering me gently but firmly out the door. I might indeed been in a slight state of shock because it took me all the way to the lobby to realize that not only had I landed on Sherlock but I'd also landed on my good shoulder.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I don't quite know where this one occurs in the timeline yet. I suspect it's after History Lesson and most likely later than that. Original prompt: Do not take the first cab, nor the second, but the third. Close your eyes. Turn to your left and open them. Now incorporate the third item you looked at into today's work. I saw a calendar that was still on April since I hadn't changed it yet.


	11. The Bard

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – The Bard**

It's not many who can come home after a long day to a virtuoso violin concert. I am one of the lucky few with that privilege. Over the years of my co-habitation with Sherlock Holmes I have been treated to quite a few such concerts. As a result, my musical knowledge as well as my knowledge of the man's relationship to the music has increased exponentially. For example, as I walked in the front door of Baker Street I could tell that Sherlock hadn't been at his violin for very long. When playing for pleasure, as opposed to _helping him think_ , he would start with something Classical and then branch out in whatever direction his whim would take him. Currently what he was playing sounded vaguely Mozart even though I didn't recognize the piece.

My entry into the flat was noted but didn't disrupt the music. By the time I had showered and made tea he had moved on to something slightly more modern, one of the Romantic composers I presumed. I sat down to listen. He segued without stopping into what I presumed was a folksong followed by a familiar melody that I suddenly recognized as an adaptation of a song by U2. He paused when finished and then started into one of his own compositions.

I had heard this one a few times although unlike most of his other compositions this one tended to change each time he played it. The reason I could recognize it was the catchy melody that wove in and out of a variety of styles and moods. It was all mashed up with barely recognizable bits and pieces of other things a few of which I could identify. This time I noticed a bit of a James Bond theme that I liked, some Mendelsohn from a concert we'd attended last week and a bit that I finally determined was part of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. I had closed my eyes to listen and heard the music turn wistful, almost yearning. It sounded almost like regret that the tune couldn't be quite everything it needed to be. As the last notes died away I realized that this was Sherlock's reflection on what we had right down to the lingering insecurity.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was standing, holding the violin and the bow, looking a bit trepidatious as if he couldn't quite decide if I had deciphered the meaning he had inserted into his composition. I knew I needed to say something or the moment would be lost. Even though my own words deserted me I managed to recall the prose of another far more eminent writer than myself.

"Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, And, therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The quote is from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 1, Scene 1. The original prompt is as follows: The Bard. We can't have a challenge with out a little Shakespeare. Use a quote, a reference, or the man himself.


	12. Umbrella

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – Umbrella**

In the day to day bureaucratic mundanity one often forgot that both the boss and his P.A. were ex-field agents. Well, forgot until they came boiling out of the inner sanctum with crisp concise orders phrased as requests moving in concert like a pair of hunting animals suddenly let off the leash. Only after they were gone did Rudolph Vickers realize just how serious the situation was: Mycroft Holmes had left behind his umbrella.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Another 3-sentence fiction. For those of you keeping track of the minor OCs Mr. Vickers was mentioned in Conversations from Q Branch, Chapter 25 when Mycroft flushed out a mole in his office. The original prompt was: "For the Want of a Brolly. Specifically, a lost umbrella."


	13. Puppies

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 13 – Puppies**

It was early morning with the sun barely peeking through the leftover clouds from a storm the night before. James Bond padded quietly down the familiar manor house hallway. He hadn't expected to be in this particular house again but it was one of the few places where one could stash the MI 6 quartermaster, his brother and Dr. Watson until they figured out just which of the two younger Holmes' had been the real target of a kidnapping attempt and why. The kidnapping attempt on Q was, of course, the reason why James was in the house. Officially he was the last line of defense, a contingency measure in case all the other security precautions failed.

While he didn't think anything untoward was afoot something had caused him to wake early. James was not one to ignore intuition, it had saved his life more than twice, which meant he would do a quiet round of the house and maybe even the perimeter before standing down. He didn't get very far before he heard a voice. Following the sound, he ended up near the kitchen and relaxed minutely when he recognized that it was Dr. Watson speaking

"Well Virginia you should be proud of yourself, your rescue was successful."

There was a jingling sound followed by a snort.

"Gladstone," John mock scolded, "That doesn't mean I am discounting your assistance."

Bond holstered his firearm and moved into the kitchen doorway. John Watson was using a towel to dry Gladstone his bull dog mix. Judging by the pile of used towels he had already performed the same auspices for Virginia, Mycroft's cat who was sitting looking at something in her sleeping basket. James stepped through the doorway to get a look. In the basket were two small, barely weaned, puppies. One was brown and the other was white. They were snuggled together yin and yang in the center of the cushion.

Watson didn't seem surprised at James' appearance in the doorway. He merely looked up in acknowledgement and went back to rubbing down Gladstone.

"Early morning walk?" James asked.

"Not quite; if I didn't know better I would have said these two," he nodded at Gladstone and Virginia, "were communicating somehow. He insisted on being let outside and then led me to Virginia pulling these two puppies out of the stream that runs through the Garden."

John let Gladstone go and stood.

"We will need to see if Q or Sherlock can figure out where they came from and if it means we've been compromised," James commented.

"That's not all we need to be concerned with," John replied as he started for the kettle, presumably to make tea.

"Oh?"

"What we really need to worry about," John nodded at the basket where Virginia had now settled in next to the puppies, "is who gets to tell Mycroft that he's added another two members to his household."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This occurs a day or so after Q is almost nabbed on the Tube in Conversations From Q-Branch Chapter 91. Virginia is the rescued cat from the Kidnapped Lisa story arc found in Conversations Chapters 25, 55, 15, 16, 22 and 57. Other Chapters dealing with Virginia are 63, 64 and 75. Gladstone's history is also in Conversations Chapters 19, 20, 50 and 70 as well as Watson Files Chapter 2.

My head canon also says that Gladstone has mellowed considerably since the incident with the treadmill and that Virginia does not see him as a threat. In typical cat fashion if it's not a threat or prey and it doesn't provide food, attention or both then it is clearly furniture and may be used or ignored at will.

The original prompt was a photo of two puppies.


	14. Ensemble

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 14 – Ensemble**

None of the conference rooms at NSY were available so we were all crammed into Lestrade's Office; Sherlock, Mycroft, Not-Anthea, Lestrade and I. Even though it was decently sized for a single person government office the atmosphere was distinctly claustrophobic. This was primarily due to the fact that the Holmeses in the room were having an argument.

The whole thing had started when Lestrade had called Sherlock and I to help identify a body. All he had was a nude middle-aged male and a large amount of blood in a completely stripped and sanitized flat. Judging from the smell of industrial cleaner and the spotless nature of the room I could tell there wasn't going to be much, if any, physical evidence other than the body itself and the blood.

Sherlock had managed to deduce a number of details of the deceased's personal life and was starting in on the cause of death when Mycroft and his entourage arrived. While this solved the problem of identity quite handily, we were informed the deceased was a minor candidate for the House of Commons from Islington, it didn't do much to illuminate exactly how he had sustained the neck wound that resulted in his bleeding out on the floor.

Seeing both Holmeses examine the scene and the body was interesting. Sherlock would move, look intently, stop then move. Rinse and repeat. Mycroft on the other hand moved as little as possible, eyes scanning the scene intently as he leaned slightly on his umbrella. Sherlock ended up at the window and Mycroft turned to watch him. That, I think, is when the argument started.

In typical Holmesian fashion the argument began non-verbally. Mycroft sighed. Sherlock looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Mycroft stopped leaning on his umbrella. Sherlock exhaled forcibly and so on. Apparently Lestrade had been in a similar situation before because he somehow managed to get both Mycroft and Sherlock to agree to move to NSY and leave the forensics folks to do what they could.

By the time we had ended up in Lestrade's office the argument had escalated into partial sentences punctuated by insults both express, on the part of Sherlock, and implied from Mycroft. From what I could tell from the fragmentary conversation Mycroft was currently going on about maths and Sherlock's alleged lack of mastery of the subject.

That caused Sherlock to grumble "And I'm sure you know 'many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!'"

Mycroft looked insulted and Sally Donovan, who had just arrived with coffee all around, burst out laughing.

"Well if you are going there," she said as she put the carrier with the cups on Lestrade's desk, "I could round up the members of the office choral ensemble and have them do an impromptu performance of _A Policeman's Lot_."

I'm not quite sure what I was expecting from the brothers Holmes in response to that but it certainly wasn't what happened.

Instead of glaring at Sally, Mycroft and Sherlock turned to each other, "Epee!" they chorused together.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The quote and Sally's remark references the _Pirates of Penzance_ by Messrs. Gilbert & Sullivan. Sherlock didn't delete it because it's all about pirates. Mycroft was in a performance of it during his schooling and played the role of Major-General Stanley. This, of course, explains Sherlock's comment in response to the insult. The original prompt was: Ensemble. Include or mention at least five canon characters in your fic.


	15. Fairy Tale

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 15 – Fairy Tale**

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

The voices of the special unit working their way through the building echoed off the concrete walls. Once upon a time it would have been john helping to secure the premises but not here, not now. This time he was simply a consultant and thus not included in the front line contingent. To be perfectly honest, John thought, it was quite a bit more nerve wracking to be standing and waiting as opposed to doing. Of course, that wasn't the only reason for John Watson's bout of nerves. It didn't help that the building was the alleged hideout of a human trafficking ring lead by a serial rapist. No, the thing that was really tying his stomach in knots was the fact that his idiot git of a flatmate had been somewhere inside said building for over two hours.

"Found him!"

John didn't wait for permission. He just took off in the direction of the voice. He faintly heard Lestrade say _Crap!_ then something less intelligible. John presumed he was on the coms informing the search team that he was on his way in.

It didn't take long for John to find the man who had yelled. He was standing in a doorway looking into a room but not entering.

"On your right," John said to avoid startling the man as he approached.

Looking into the room John could see why no one had entered. The entire room had a set of what looked like trip wires strung at about 6 to 12 inches above the floor. Dead center of the contraption was what looked like a futon mattress upon which rested the body of Sherlock Holmes. He was still dressed in his suit trousers and shoes but had somehow acquired an oversized pirate style long sleeved shirt and had lost everything else including his trademark Belstaff. He was laying on his back arranged like a sculpture on a medieval sarcophagus. John could see he was breathing shallowly; probably drugged.

"Any idea what those wires are connected to?" John asked.

"Explosives in the walls," a voice from behind him replied.

John turned to see the commander of the special unit.

"Just lovely," John noted sarcastically. "I suppose it will bring the entire building down if its tripped."

"Even better," the commander replied in the same vein, "It's also on a timer, the ordinance experts are stuck in traffic, and my man is not sure he can disarm it in time."

Sherlock started to stir.

"I'm going in," John stated as he carefully stepped over the first trip wire, "before sleeping beauty there wakes up and sets the whole thing off!"

"But…" the commander started and shut up as John stepped carefully over the next wire.

It wasn't terribly difficult. It just required concentration and balance. John made it to the mattress. At this distance John could tell that while Sherlock was restless he didn't seem to be completely awake.

John took a moment to examine the setup. It didn't look like there was a dead-man pressure switch under the mattress and nothing was attached to Sherlock himself. Therefore, the main danger was Sherlock blundering into one of the trip wires.

"Stay still Sherlock," John ordered in what Sherlock jokingly referred to as his _Captain Watson_ voice. It was one of their codes. When John gave a direct order in that tone he knew that if Sherlock was even partially copacetic he would obey.

Sherlock went completely still.

"Ok," John kept up with the orders, "I'm going to get down and maneuver you over my shoulders then carry you out of here. Just stay relaxed and let me move you."

John looked up at the commander and his man in the doorway and mouthed "Time?"

The commander held up 5 fingers.

"Once I'm standing," he told Sherlock, "whatever you do don't wiggle."

This time John got a grunt in acknowledgement. Time to move, he thought.

Four minutes and thirty seconds later John Watson, Sherlock over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, came charging out of the building with the last two members and the commander of the special unit hot on his heels. They made it to the police perimeter just as the building imploded behind them.

John set Sherlock, who at this point seemed to be moderately awake, down against the bonnet of a police car and began to examine him for damage. Sherlock, of course, immediately attempted to stand up by himself, lost his balance and ended up on the ground taking John down with him.

"Hmm," said Lestrade as he walked around the car to find Sherlock partially in John's lap, "do I need to distribute the contents of the Yard's betting pool?"

John shot him a dirty look and assisted Sherlock to a sitting position on the curb so he could continue his assessment.

"Probably not," another DI, John thought it sounded like Gregson, interjected. "The rules say we need clear and convincing evidence. Rescue of a slumbering 'Princess Sherlock' from a tower room doesn't count. The special unit blokes said that Watson didn't even have to kiss him to wake him up, just shouted an order in his face!"

John didn't have a chance to respond because Sherlock chimed in, "Despite the puerile comments that pass for humor among Detective Inspectors, the children's story aspect is surprisingly accurate."

"Really?" Lestrade scoffed, "the 'tower' and potential evidence therein happens to be a pile of rubble. Not quite a fairy tale ending what?"

"As usual," Sherlock slurred, "you have ignored other possible analogies to the current situation."

He shrugged his shoulders, stretched a bit, and grimaced, almost toppling over onto John again in the process. At the last moment Sherlock righted himself and with a flourish produced a thumb drive from somewhere.

"From the state of my bruises," he intoned drunkenly, "It's not _Sleeping Beauty_ , it's _Princess and the Pea!_ "

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Not dead. The muse has been on vacation for a bit but she's back now. Original prompt was "Blood on the Snow. Many fairy tales have their roots in horror stories. Others are bright and shiny and sparkly by design. Use a fairy tale or horror story as the inspiration for today's entry."


	16. Horsing Around

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 16 – Horsing Around**

Medically speaking Quentin Holmes (technically nee Depford) was not a terribly difficult case once we managed to deal with all the side effects caused by the rather nasty cocktail of drugs he'd had in his system. Psychologically speaking, I didn't know if I was in any way qualified to deal with a traumatized genius. Mycroft thought otherwise, so as soon as we'd managed to get Quentin fully detoxed and out of the Q-branch game room, I found myself packed off to the Holmes' Manor in Sussex.

It was quite a cavalcade. Quentin, James Bond acting as his bodyguard, myself and a double handful of agents to augment the existing security and household staff. Sherlock, of course, insisted on tagging along. I was slightly surprised no one objected.

The first few days were relatively uneventful but for Quentin's propensity to wander about at all hours then fall asleep in some small obscure corner or another. He seemed to prefer enclosed spaces such as, cupboards; armoires; a secondary pantry; and various nooks hidden behind curtains, plants and the like. Bond became rather adept at locating him, all the while grumbling that he'd be much easier to find if we hadn't separated him from his electronics.

After a couple of days of this strange version of hide and seek, Bond expressed his concern. However, after watching him for half a day I concluded Quentin wasn't narcoleptic. No, he just seemed to look for somewhere hidden whenever he became tired enough to want to sleep. Sherlock, when asked, told me that Quentin had always tended to hide as a coping mechanism for stress. He opined that the fact Quentin was hiding to sleep as opposed to removing himself from general circulation to have an emotional meltdown was actually a sign of progress.

By the end of the week Quentin seemed to be settling into a more normal sleeping pattern. We then had a few days of relative normalcy before the signs of boredom started. Luckily, I had a ready-made distraction in the form of Sherlock. It wasn't too difficult to get both of them involved in some experiment or another. Sherlock was even amenable to making sure that Quentin stopped to eat and rest at reasonable hours. Bond was also helpful in that respect. Quentin seemed to pay attention to his suggestions. Thus, between the three of us we managed to keep Quentin from overdoing and setting back his recovery.

I did expect some push back eventually on Quentin's part to the no electronics mandate however, I didn't expect what actually ended up happening. When they look at him most people only see the computer nerd, the genius that can make the electronic bits and bites dance to his whim, they forget that he is also a highly competent engineer in several different fields. Both Bond and I were guilty of this and had it brought home to us.

Quentin had disappeared that morning after breakfast muttering something about mucking about in the attic. When he didn't come down for lunch Bond and I went looking. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from above our heads was not reassuring but at least it gave us a direction to investigate. We found him tinkering with a contraption that looked something like a bellows with an antique saddle perched on top. He had somehow managed to marry it to a couple small motors which were causing it to bump up and down along with swaying slightly side to side. This clearly was the cause of the rhythmic thumping.

"What the heck is that?" Bond asked.

Q shut down the contraption and replied, "Victorian exercise machine, with upgrades."

Bond took a closer look, "Meant to simulate horseback riding?"

"Yep. Thought I'd haul it downstairs and gift it to Mycroft when he shows up later this week, he's been looking for something a bit more effective in exercise equipment than his treadmill."

It seemed that there was something a little off about Quentin's grin at the end of his statement. Bond also picked up on it.

"Is this something akin to the exploding glitter pen Q?" he asked.

"Now why would you think that 007?"

"Something to do with a rant the other day about not being able to monitor moving your flat electronically in which Mycroft's name was prominently featured?" Bond replied.

It was at that point I picked up the vintage advertisement for the contraption in front of us and put two and two together. Cures Dyspepsia was the second health claim. If that bit of hyperbole just happened to be true, combining it with just the right frequency of vibration would potentially result in…

"No," I said forcefully, "and I'll see what I can do about oversight to the flat relocation."

"In that case," Quentin said as he stood up and dusted himself off, "have I missed lunch?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Original Prompt – A picture of a vintage advertisement for "Horse Exercise at Home – Vigor's Horse-Action Saddle." Unfortunately, I don't have a good way to link the image.


	17. A Cardboard Box

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 17 – Cardboard Box**

"That," said a bruised and battered James Bond to his 00 counterpart Alex Trevelyan who was sitting nursing a possibly broken ankle, "is a bloody big rat."

The rat in question was dead and laying in the middle of the MI 6 employee gym. The gym itself was only in marginally better condition than the agents. Equipment had been tipped over and strewn about however nothing appeared to be in the same state as the rat.

"As if you expected anything other than ROUSs to be infesting Q-branch," Alex replied wincing as he prodded his ankle.

"That broken?" Bond asked.

"Probably just badly sprained. With a bit of strapping I could walk on it," which was 00 code for _it would hurt like hell but I can keep on mission_.

"You OK?" Trevelyn asked in return noting the various stains on his fellow 00's clothes along with the rather obvious makeshift bandage on Bond's arm.

"I'm not going to bleed out anytime soon," was Bond's reply meaning _it's a moderately serious wound but not immediately life threatening_.

"Gentlemen," Q's voice came over their earpieces which, by some miracle had survived not only their proceeding mission but also the last half an hour, "I can see that the initial target is dead but I do not have eyes on Ms. Hall and her tracker only appears to be intermittently functioning."

"Well Q," Bond replied, "Virginia is currently somewhere in the rafters above the soundproofing ceiling tiles. I'm not quite sure how to get her down without causing even more damage or potentially spooking her deeper into the infrastructure."

"I don't think the patented Bond charm is going to work this time Q," Alex chimed in.

"Hmph," Q acknowledged, "Stay put then and don't move around, I'll be with you shortly."

Less than 5 minutes later Q walked in carrying a cardboard box. Ignoring the agents, he walked across the gym and set the box down near some equipment that had been pushed over to lean precariously against the wall. He then proceeded to reach in the box, pulled out a small tin and opened it. Q placed the tin back in the carboard box, backed off and joined his agents by the far wall.

It didn't take long. A grey and white cat seemed to appear from nowhere and nonchalantly limped over the box. She sniffed then jumped into the box.

Q stood. "I suggest you gentlemen get to medical. They have already been alerted as to your condition. Dr. Watson is in today so I will know if you decide to skive off before doing so. In the meantime, I will deal with Ms. Hall and attempt to come up with a plausible reason for this," he gestured at the mess.

Bond held out his hand and levered 006 up from the floor.

"Well Quartermaster," he remarked, "If the camera feeds are damaged you can always write it off as a training accident."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This is the incident referenced in _Conversations from Q Branch_ Chapters 64 and 75 from another POV. If you want the entire sequence involving Virginia the cat, see _Conversations from Q Branch Chapters_ 25, 55, 15, 16, 22, 57 and 63 as well. Original Prompt – A cardboard box.


	18. A Real Person

**Title:** The Watson Files

 **Parings:** Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (slash goggles optional)

 **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence and injury

* * *

 **Chapter 18 – A Real Person**

The case had started out as a 4 but I had convinced Sherlock to take it anyway as it would, in all likelihood, pay our expenses for a number of months upon a successful resolution. It escalated to a solid 5 when Sherlock recovered the jewelry in question only to discover that it was an extremely high-quality forgery.

We were following our main suspect, hoping to catch an accomplice passing him the jewelry, when he ducked into a convention in the ExCeL. Sherlock had to bluff our way in with one of Lestrade's IDs. Unfortunately, it took just long enough that I lost track of the suspect in the crowd. Even though we quickly managed to get onto a balcony with a decent overview, the crowd and the costumes were enough to completely stump Sherlock.

After observing for a minute Sherlock grumbled at me, "The sheer number of people pretending to be characters from popular culture and doing so with only a modicum of success render most of my normal methods useless!"

I had to chuckle a bit.

"It's not just popular culture, it's a rather specific subset of same," I informed him. "See, there's even a Tardis over there."

Sherlock made an annoyed huff, spun and took off. I followed. I wasn't too surprised when he detoured and managed to get us into the service corridors. That was when it happened.

I have long been aware of Sherlock's passing resemblance to a certain famous actor. What I didn't know at the time was that said actor actually happened to be on a panel at that particular convention as he was playing a superhero in soon to be released movie. Even if I had known, what were the odds of the two ending up face to face in a back corridor?

The thing I noticed first was the hair. Sherlock's hair is raven wing black, on the long side with a bit of a curl to it. The actor, on the other hand, had short brown hair even though in the movie trailers I'd seen it had been quite a bit darker and longer accentuating the similarity. Sherlock had been ribbed by several of the Yarders about it when the trailer had first come out so I knew he was aware of the likeness. The second thing I noticed was weight. The actor was somewhat heavier and slightly bulkier.

Sherlock's reaction was predictable at least to me. He quickly looked the actor up and down. Then he smiled using what I had long ago labeled "fake smile #2," taking a breath to start a series of deductions.

Surprisingly the actor managed to completely derail the incipient rant. I'm not quite sure what exactly he did but suddenly it was as if I was watching a mirror image of Sherlock. The actor repeated the up and down look, right down to the little hitch of breath that Sherlock habitually takes as he finishes his deductions. He then mimicked "fake smile #2" exactly, held it for a moment and then raised one eyebrow.

"I don't have time to deal with this," Sherlock exclaimed then he glared at the actor's entourage which parted before him and strode off.

I hesitated for a second and caught the moment when the actor shook off his imitation. "Fake smile #2" morphed into a grin and he winked at me before I took off in Sherlock's wake.

We caught the jewel thief. His accomplice was the client's step-daughter who was trying to frame her father's socialite trophy-wife as a gold-digging opportunist who had replaced the real jewelry with fakes. I fully expected, once the case was finished, that Sherlock would expound on our encounter with the actor but he didn't.

It was only a few months later, when we were watching a film on the tele that Sherlock finely said anything. It was an early work and the actor was a secondary character but instead of his usual commentary Sherlock instead remarked, "A reasonably accurate portrayal given the material. He seems to be unusually perceptive and good at his craft."

Well, I thought to myself, given the number and variety of disguises and personas I'd seen Sherlock use, it takes one to know one.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Original Prompt – Dr. Watson meet Dr. Freud. Have a real-life celebrity of whichever timeline you choose make a cameo.


End file.
